This is Our Beginning
by flowerpicture
Summary: Fluffy Stendan one-shot. Complete.


**AN: Here's what you need to know about this fic: it goes AU after Ste's accident. Ste still married Doug, still had his accident, and Doug still went to America on his own. But Dublin didn't happen, the reunion didn't happen, Seamus never turned up, Walker never came back, and this fic takes places in the present time with both Ste and Brendan single and finally settled in their lives. Doug's back but he and Ste are not together anymore. Okay! Hope you enjoy. X**

**::: ::: :::**

Ste watches with a kind of rapt fascination from his spot behind the window at the deli. The _Chez Chez_ sign coming down; the _Brady's_ sign going up. Cheryl's been gone a month, left to live in domestic bliss with that posh man of hers, and apparently Brendan's decided it's time to move on. Ste's got a stack of leaflets on the counter beside the till, let one of the club's new barmen leave them there yesterday: advertisement for the re-launch, when tonight the club officially becomes _Brady's_, leaves _Chez Chez_ and all its memories behind. Ste's a little sad about it, if he's honest. _Chez Chez_ has an imprint on his history. And now it's gone.

Of course he knows it's not really _gone_. The building's still there. It's still a club. There's still Brendan. Always Brendan.

Brendan, who suddenly comes into his view. Ste was so fascinated with the sign that he didn't notice Brendan leaving the club, crossing the road to the deli. Now Ste watches him pass his window and he expects to see him continue on down the road, though the village, but he doesn't. He comes into the deli.

Ste smiles, wipes his hands on his apron as if he'd been busy rather than standing around uselessly, staring at his past.

"Steven," Brendan says. He's not wearing a suit, but jeans and a black long-sleeved top instead. Everything he wears these days stretches at the seams and Ste's sure, one day soon, Brendan's just going to burst through his clothes like the Hulk. The thought leaves him a little dry in the mouth.

"Hiya." Ste comes away from the window and heads back behind the counter, passes Brendan on the way, feels eyes on his every movement. "What can I get ya?"

"Black coffee. Please." Brendan comes close to the counter and taps his fingers on it—not out of impatience, Ste knows, but because he's a neurotic idiot who doesn't know how to stand around like a normal person.

"Right," Ste says, and goes about making the coffee while Brendan fiddles with everything within reach, including the pastries Ste has laid out. "Grubby paws off, thanks," he admonishes, smirking when Brendan immediately does as he's told. "Unless you're buying one."

"I don't get a freebie?" Brendan says, but his attention's already moved on to the cupcakes. "What's in these things?"

"Calories and sin." Ste puts Brendan's coffee on the counter, snaps a lid on it.

"Hmm," says Brendan, leaning down to get a better view of the cakes. "Sounds like my kinda party."

"Here, look, you can have one." Ste grabs one and sticks it in a paper bag—doesn't bother using tongs or gloves. It's only Brendan. They've shared far more than accidental germs in the past. "But don't make a habit out of it."

"Too kind," Brendan says smoothly. He drops some change onto the counter for the coffee then takes a sip. "Mm, this is good."

_I know_, Ste thinks.

"So this event tonight," Brendan says, and his tone is different now. Less playful, more tentative. Ste snaps the till shut and raises an eyebrow to say he's listening. "The club's re-launch."

"What about it?"

Brendan shuffles his feet, brushes a thumb against his moustache. He's doing that thing where he can only meet Ste's eyes for a second or two at a time—a clear sign he's up to something Ste's better left out of. Either that or he's nervous.

"I was just, uh… You coming?"

Ste smiles. Nervous then. Although he doesn't really understand why. "I don't know if you've noticed, Brendan," he says, grabbing one of the leaflets and holding it up for Brendan's inspection, "but your ticket prices are insane. I'd have to starve for a week to afford one."

"The club's going exclusive, members-only," Brendan explains almost dismissively. "But I didn't mean you had to buy a ticket."

Ste blinks, lowers the leaflet. "You what?"

"Your money's no good with me, Steven, you know that," Brendan says, maintaining eye contact now. "If you want to come, I'll put you on the list."

Truth be told, Ste could do with a night out. Although he's surprised it's coming at the hands of Brendan's generosity. It's not as if they've had much to do with each other in a while. Not since the accident; not after Doug left; not over the holidays or when Cheryl left or anytime, really, other than polite greetings and Brendan's occasional visits to the deli for a coffee. Sometimes he feels as if his _thing_ with Brendan is nothing but history. Other times he feels like the universe is just biding its time.

Either way, it's a free night out, and Ste's been short on those recently.

"Uh…yeah. If you're sure?"

"Sure I'm sure," Brendan says with an awkward little smile. "Come over about ten."

**::: ::: :::**

For a moment, Ste wonders if he's stepped into the wrong building. Everything about the club looks different. The tacky chav art on the walls has gone; the random modern art men have vanished; the rough-stone walls and cracked floor and creaking couches are nowhere to be seen. Everything's been replaced. Reds and blacks; leather and chrome; mirrors big enough to make the place look twice the size. It's half boudoir, half Manchester gay club. It's completely Brendan.

Ste makes his way through the crowd towards the bar. The place is heaving with bodies, and Ste can already see that Brendan's plan of exclusivity is working: barely a student in sight. Everyone looks so _classy_, and this club might be far off the beaten track, but now it has elitism appeal, and people have travelled to be here. And will travel to be here tomorrow, Ste's sure, and the next night.

_Brady's_. The place to be.

He finally makes it to the bar, recognises not one single member of staff working it, but somehow manages to get served fairly quickly.

"Vodka and Coke," he shouts, and gets a nod in response. While he's waiting for his drink, he glances around for Brendan, but doesn't see him. Refusing to entertain disappointment, he takes the drink the barman's handing him and fishes in his pocket for his wallet.

"What did I tell you?" a low, heated voice purrs in his ear. Ste turns his head to meet Brendan's hooded gaze. "Your money's no good with me."

"Just paying for me drink," Ste says, and holds up his glass as if it explains everything.

Brendan tutts, barely audible, and motions for the barman to lean closer. "This one's got a free ride," he instructs the barman, who nods his understanding and moves on to the next customer.

"Thanks," Ste says awkwardly once Brendan's attention is back on him. "You don't have to do that, you know."

"I know," Brendan murmurs simply. His gaze wonders over Ste's form. "You look good."

Ste almost snorts, incredulous. "If I'd known you'd turned this place all posh like, I woulda worn something other than these." He plucks at his trackies, self-conscious and a little embarrassed.

"I said you look good," Brendan says, firmer, then raises his finger to one of his staff, indicating he wants a drink. "So what do you think?"

"Of the new look here?" Ste confirms, and Brendan makes a vague _mmm-hmm_ noise. "It's different."

"You don't like it?"

"I'm just really used to how it looked before." Ste takes a sip of his drink and has another look around. "But it's nice, yeah. Very you."

Brendan smirks. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"I meant it as one." Ste watches Brendan swallow his shot of whiskey in one go, follows the roll of his throat and the shift of muscles in his arm. So many muscles now. "So you gonna give me a dance later?" he asks, grinning playfully, makes sure his accent is heavy and thick.

"I might," Brendan says, smirking, shocking the grin off Ste's face. He puts his glass down on the bar and stands upright. "But for now I gotta go play host for a while. You'll stick around, yeah?"

"Yeah," Ste says, and then, "for that dance."

Brendan actually laughs at that, backing away from the bar. "Come find me in fifteen minutes. Save me from these pretentious idiots." Then he's gone, with nothing more than a, "And have another drink!" shouted over his shoulder.

There's only one word Ste can think of to describe this night so far: surreal.

And maybe a little fun.

**::: ::: :::**

In the end, it's Brendan who finds him. Ste's half dancing with some random guy and half trying not to spill his drink when Brendan slides in front of him, effectively bringing the dance to a sudden halt.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Well I was," Ste says. "You come for your dance?" He shuffles closer to Brendan, grinning stupidly.

"Better," Brendan says, and holds up his hands. In them he's carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses. "Come on," he adds, and then walks away. Ste follows him.

They go into Brendan's office, and Ste is ridiculously pleased to discover this room hasn't received the same makeover treatment. It looks exactly the same, down to the worn leather chair behind the desk. It's a comfort.

Brendan shuts the door behind them, blocking out some of the noise until it becomes nothing more than a dull thud, and nods at the sofa. "Sit," he says, and when Ste does so, he sits beside him. "Thought we could have a little celebration of our own." He hands Ste a glass and gets to work opening the bottle.

"What are we celebrating?" Ste asks, leaning into Brendan's space a little. They're not sitting close enough to touch, but Ste can still smell him, feel him. He wonders if he's had too much to drink already.

"The re-launch," Brendan says simply. "_Brady's_." He pours champagne into Ste's glass, and then his own, puts the bottle on the floor by his feet. "New beginnings," he finishes, and raises his glass to toast with Ste's.

"New beginnings," Ste says, getting into the spirit of it, and takes a sip, bubbles tickling the back of his throat.

Brendan smiles around the rim of his own glass, holding Ste's gaze, and Ste gets the distinct feeling he's being _observed_ rather than just looked at. It makes him a little warm.

"So how've you been?" Brendan asks, shifting on the sofa to better face Ste. They lean back at the same time, getting comfortable, and Brendan's arm goes up onto the back of the sofa, behind Ste's shoulders. Doesn't touch him, maybe on purpose.

"Good, yeah. You?"

"Can't complain," Brendan says smoothly, then contemplates him for a moment. "Anything…exciting…happening in your world lately?"

"Nah." Ste takes another healthy gulp of his drink. "Same old nothing, me. Work. Sleep. See the kids every couple of weeks."

"That's good," Brendan says. "That you still see them."

"Couldn't stop me if you tried."

"Who'd want to try?"

Ste shrugs. "Figure of speech, innit."

"Hmm," Brendan says. "So that's it? Young, single man like you, not getting yourself out there?"

Ste snorts a laugh. "Who's got time for that? Too much hassle."

Brendan raises an eyebrow. "Hassle?"

"Yeah, just… can't be bothered with all the drama right now. And there's _always_ drama," he says pointedly.

Brendan smiles a mirthless smile. "Yeah." He drums his fingers on the sofa behind Ste's head, lets the moment pass. "Shame though, that you're not…"

"Getting any?" Ste laughs, manages to get a proper smile out of Brendan. "We can't all be like you, putting it about just 'cos you can."

Brendan's smile fades. "That's the old me," he says, but doesn't elaborate.

They sit in silence for a moment or two, sipping their drinks, until Ste gets restless enough to ask, "So why _Brady's_?"

"It's my name," Brendan says. "Did I not mention?"

"Shut up," Ste grumbles, giving him a nudge. "I mean why have you changed the name?"

Brendan sighs, but it doesn't sound irritable. More like he's contemplating his own thoughts. "I redecorated the flat," he says. "The week after Cheryl left. Just wanted a change. And then I started wanting to change everything, make a fresh start out of all my mistakes."

Ste nods, silently urging him to continue. It's not often he gets to hear Brendan talk about anything personal.

"Started with my kids. Went to Dublin for a week, rebuilt my bridges."

"That's good," Ste says, and it really is.

"Then I came back here," Brendan continues. "Looked around at my life, figured out what mattered the most to me. Seeing what else I can rebuild. What I could bring back to life."

"The club," Ste says.

"Other things are more important," Brendan says cryptically, looking at the wall opposite rather than at Ste. "But the club's a good start for now."

"What other things?" Ste asks, and for some reason, for some stupid reason, his heart kicks up a beat.

Brendan looks at him. Smiles. Those damn unreadable eyes of his glinting in the soft light. "I might tell you one day."

"I'll be waiting for that day," Ste says, even if he doesn't quite know what he means.

"Will you?" Brendan asks, and Ste wishes he understood, feels as if there's something he's missing, a vital piece of the puzzle.

The door opens suddenly, sounds of the club bursting into the room, shattering the soft calm of their conversation.

It's one of the barmen. Brendan's needed, something about a broken pump, and Brendan heaves a sigh.

"I need to get going anyway," Ste says, standing up. "I've got a delivery coming at half five in the morning. _Half five_, Brendan. Who wants to be working at that time?"

"Such a hard life you lead," Brendan says, but he's smiling, standing beside Ste with his hands in his pockets.

"I know, it's so sad." Ste grins at him, downs the rest of his drink and puts the glass on the desk. "Right, then. I'll see you around?"

"Yeah." Brendan lowers his gaze, scratches his forehead. "Yeah, you'll see me around."

"Right," Ste says again. And then he does something, has no idea what possesses him, why he thinks it makes _any_ sense, but he does it anyway. He steps close to Brendan, puts a hand on his shoulder, leans up and presses a soft, lingering kiss to Brendan's cheek, moustache brushing the edge of his lips. "Congrats on the re-launch," he mutters, because he has to say something, anything to stop his racing heart.

When he pulls away, Brendan's eyes are closed and he takes a moment to open them.

It's with an electric thrill down his spine that Ste realises Brendan has stopped breathing.

He leaves before he does anything stupid.

**::: ::: ::: **

Ste can't believe he's here before the sun's even awake, unpacking delivery crates in the deli kitchen. It's downright inhumane, is what it is, going to work before dawn. Especially after champagne the night before. Champagne, no matter how small the amount, always messes Ste up the next morning.

"Ugh," he huffs about nothing in particular, stacking packets of flour on the counter. He's still half asleep, brain numb and eyes itching, hoping against hope that Doug comes in early so he can get home for a bit more sleep.

He's so brain-dead that it takes him a moment to realise the knocking sound isn't coming from inside his own knackered head. Someone's tapping on the front door.

He's surprised to discover it's Brendan. If deli owners struggle to be up before dawn, then nightclub owners should find it an impossible feat.

"What are you doing here?" he asks after he's unlocked the door and shuffled Brendan inside.

Brendan's eyes are heavy, a little red around the edges, and he's wearing the same clothes from last night—albeit a little rumpled now. Ste realises then that Brendan's not even been home yet. "You never slept at the club," he says, heading back behind the counter.

"Not intentionally," Brendan says. "Had a late lock-in, then sat down in the office for a minute. Next thing I know…" He spreads his hands wide, mouth pulled into a grimace.

Ste tutts. "You idiot. Go home now, get some sleep."

"I'd love to, Steven," he says, as if Ste's just stated the bloody obvious. Which he supposes he has. "But I've got a guy coming to fix that busted pump in an hour. No point going to bed now."

"But you'll go home after, yeah? Get some rest?"

"That's the plan."

Ste tutts again, because Brendan's an idiot, then turns to switch on the coffee machine.

"I came to see if I could bribe you to—"

"I've already got the coffee machine on, Brendan, no bribes necessary."

"You take the fun out of everything," Brendan mutters, but Ste can tell he's only playing, so he pokes his tongue out at him. It makes Brendan smile at least.

They don't speak again until Brendan's got a cup of hot coffee in his hands, and he takes a few gulps before sighing in pleasure. "Hits the spot."

"Hopefully it'll keep you going for the next couple of hours. You should get one of your cronies to deal with the repairman."

"Cronies?"

"Lackeys. Barmen. Whatever."

"You're like your own personal timewarp," Brendan says, bringing the cup to his mouth again.

"You what?"

"Nevermind." There's a hint of a smirk on Brendan's face. "And no. I'll sort it myself."

"Such a control freak," Ste says, rolling his eyes. He heads into the kitchen to finish unpacking the delivery, and he's a little surprised when Brendan follows him in there, leans against one of the fridges, idly sipping his coffee. Completely at home.

"Thanks for coming last night," Brendan says suddenly, and he doesn't sound facetious, so Ste takes it at face value.

"Thanks for having me," he responds, distracted by the crate of vegetables he's attempting to sort through. Then he realises what he just said and freezes. "I mean…"

Brendan gives a tired laugh. "I know what you meant, Steven."

"Right," Ste says, attempting a smile and praying his face isn't going red. "Good."

Brendan lets him work in silence for a minute or two, content to lounge about Ste's kitchen and drink his coffee. Once Ste's put the last of the products away and stands straight again, brushing his hands together, Brendan says, "You doing anything tonight?" His usual confidence, that vocal swagger of his, is conspicuously missing.

Ste blinks. "Wasn't planning on anything, why?"

"Got the night off," Brendan says with a shrug that's meant to look casual but isn't. "And the flat's too empty these days. Thought I might go to the Dog for a couple of pints."

"Right," Ste says, because he's not sure what else to say. He doesn't want to presume, but it does sound as if…

"Feel like keeping me company?"

Ste doesn't give himself time to think about it. "Okay."

Brendan stares at him, looking as if he's not quite sure what just happened. Probably expecting Ste to refuse, because once upon a time this conversation would never have happened, not in this world. "Good," he says, and nothing else.

"Great," Ste says, mimicking Brendan's tone of forced casualness. "About eight?"

"Eight, yep." Brendan waves the empty cup at Ste. "Thanks for this," he says before dropping it in the bin. "Uh…I'll see you later then."

"Later, yeah."

"Good," Brendan says again, and Ste almost rolls his eyes, wondering if Brendan is always this awkward when inviting friends out for a drink.

Assuming, of course, that friends is what they are now.

It sounds ridiculous even to Ste's ears.

**::: ::: :::**

It doesn't take long for Ste to realise this isn't a casual drink between friends, and it takes even less time for him to realise he's pleased about that. Brendan looks better when Ste arrives; fresh and smart and awake. He's in another suit, too dressy for the Dog, but it means he's made a specific effort and it gives Ste a jolt of pleasure.

Brendan gets the drinks in, refusing to let Ste pay for anything, and Ste would complain that he's not a girl but he likes this, the mild old-fashioned treatment he's receiving, having his drinks bought by the handsome man in the smart suit.

They sit on the same side of a table, chairs close, and Brendan taps their glasses together with a smile. "New beginnings," Ste says again, and it feels like a mantra now, a promise. Brendan smiles at him in response, genuine warmth in his eyes.

They don't talk about much of anything: the club, the deli, what Cheryl's up to now. "Driving that fella of hers crazy," Brendan says, his voice full of fondness. "Planning the wedding from hell."

Ste wants to hear all about the wedding, but Brendan doesn't have details—or if he does, he says, then he's blocked them from his mind. Ste makes a mental note to give Cheryl a call soon. It's been far too long.

Brendan excuses himself to the toilet and Ste takes the opportunity to get a round in. Darren makes a snarky comment but Ste ignores him, and then Brendan joins him at the bar, one hand on the small of Ste's back, warm and sure. He rubs a little, his whole hand at first but then just his thumb, a small back-and-forth of intimacy across Ste's skin, just a thin t-shirt between them. Ste stretches it out for as long as he can, pulls Darren into a conversation, slips closer into Brendan's space, lets his hip rest against Brendan's thigh. Brendan moves his hand in response, trails it from Ste's back over to his waist, down to his hip, until he's effectively standing there with his arm around Ste and Ste likes it, perhaps more than he should.

When they get back to the table Brendan rests his arm on the back of Ste's chair, fingertips gentle against Ste's shoulder, unmoving.

Brendan spends the evening with his guard down, talking openly, answering Ste's endless questions about this and that and nothing in particular. He speaks quietly, softly, and he's more at ease now than Ste's ever seen him.

There's something different about this new Brendan. He's bigger now, muscle and strength, an imposing figure and that same hardness in his eyes when he catches someone looking at him the wrong way, the intimidation and threat prevalent. But he's softer now too, comfortable in his own skin, and the waves of contentment radiating from him are like a magnet to Ste, drawing him in. He finds himself with a hand on Brendan's thigh while talking animatedly about a nightmare customer from earlier that day, and he's almost stunned into silence when Brendan shifts on his chair but doesn't dislodge his hand, careful to keep it there, moves his arm up further behind Ste so he can curl his own hand over Ste's shoulder.

It's a million miles away from any other time they've spent together in public and Ste can't stop smiling, especially when he sees that same smile mirrored on Brendan's face.

He wonders, briefly, if he's dreaming.

The night has to draw to an end eventually, though, and they walk through the village together, hands stuffed in pockets and shoulders brushing. "Thanks for coming," Brendan says during a break in the conversation, and Ste smiles, says, "I had a good time."

"Me too," Brendan says, his tone gruff, and Ste gives him a shove with his shoulder, makes them both laugh.

They reach the centre of the village and the steps leading up to Brendan's and Ste slows, ready to say goodnight, but Brendan keeps going. "It's all right, I'll walk with you," he says, and Ste doesn't question it, doesn't fight the warmth blossoming in his chest.

They make it to Ste's in less time than Ste would like and come to a stop outside his front door. It should be awkward but it isn't, and when Brendan says goodnight, he does so in a way that sounds like a promise.

"Night," Ste responds, and finds himself hoping, like he's never hoped for anything before, that Brendan will kiss him.

But Brendan just smiles, gives Ste's wrist a brief squeeze, and leaves.

It takes Ste hours to fall asleep that night.

**::: ::: :::**

Ste knows it's a flimsy excuse, but he needs a reason to see Brendan again and this is as good as any. It's one he knows Brendan will appreciate, at any rate.

"Cakes," is the first thing Brendan says when he opens the door, looking at the tray Ste's holding. He's dressed casually, with the added accessory of a pen tucked behind his ear and a calculator in his hand.

"Cakes," Ste confirms. "Leftover cakes from today. It was either bin them or give them to you."

"You made a wise choice, young Steven," Brendan says solemnly, then steps back to let Ste enter the flat.

Ste goes to put the tray on the table but finds he can't. It's covered end to end in sheets of paper. "What's all this?" he says, instead putting the tray on the counter.

Brendan sighs, taking a seat at the table. "Invoices, mostly. For this quarter. Trying to get it all in order before my meeting with the taxman this week."

"Brendan Brady, going legit with the taxman?" Ste teases.

"Brendan Brady's _always_ been legit with the taxman," Brendan says. Then he looks up and smirks. "It's everything else you had to worry about."

"Yeah, I bet." He observes the mess of paperwork again. "You gonna be doing this long?"

"Probably," Brendan says with another sigh.

Ste chews his bottom lip. "I could help you," he suggests.

"Hey, you could help me," Brendan says. He smiles and points at a spare chair. "Sit and switch your brain on."

"You're asking for miracles now."

"I'll take my chances. Here," he says, shoving a stack of papers at Ste. "Order them by date first, then I'll tell you what to do with them."

"Yes, boss," Ste says, which brings a wry smile to Brendan's face.

They only get halfway into it before Brendan gets too distracted by the tray of cakes to continue.

**::: ::: :::**

Brendan decides the next day that he's going to buy some new suits. He then decides, to Ste's confusion, that Ste will be going with him.

"Why am I going with you?" Ste asks, taking off his apron and hanging it up. He waves vaguely to Doug in the kitchen and follows Brendan out of the deli.

"I need a second opinion," Brendan says.

"But why are you buying new suits anyway? You've got loads."

"Not many of them really fit me anymore."

Ste gives Brendan's body an appreciative once-over. "Yeah, you're definitely…bigger…these days."

Brendan catches Ste looking and smirks. Ste rolls his eyes, embarrassed. "Don't get a big head," he grumbles and Brendan laughs, leads them to his car parked in the club's forecourt.

"Wait, I need to go home and change first," Ste says, looking down at himself, at his trackies. He and Doug had decided weeks ago that the matching uniforms weren't really working for them, that the aprons were enough of an identity without the awkward identikit chinos.

Brendan frowns at him over the roof of the car. "Why? You look fine."

"Brendan, I can't go to some posh tailor's wearing a _tracksuit._"

"Who says you can't?"

"The laws of, like, being proper and that!"

Brendan's eyes are twinkling. "The laws of being proper and that?"

"You know what I mean," Ste grumbles. "I can't go looking like a scally."

"You look good," Brendan says, eyes darkening in the instant before he looks down to unlock the car. "Really good. Trust me."

Ste stares at him, mind going a mile a minute. Then he lets a grin spread across his face. "Oh that's _right_," he says, voice full of tease. "You've got a thing for scally Ste."

"Shut up and get in the car," Brendan mutters before disappearing into the car himself.

Ste laughs and gets in, still mildly giggling as he secures his seatbelt. "No need to be embarrassed," he says, giving Brendan a nudge. "I remember how it is now."

"Enlighten me." Brendan starts the car, glowering, and he seems annoyed, but Ste knows he's not really. He's just playing along in an effort to cover up his embarrassment.

"Well you were proper into me when I were still a scally, right," Ste says, warming to his theme, still grinning. "But then I changed and started wearing nice clothes and that's when you went off me. So I reckon it had nowt to do with me. You've got a scally kink."

"How many more times do you want to say the word 'scally'?" Brendan interjects, eyes on his driving as he manoeuvres them out of the village.

"But I'm right though."

"You're not right," Brendan says, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

"You don't have a thing for scallies?"

"No, I do." Brendan glances at him out the corner of his eye. "But I didn't go off you when you started dressing differently."

"Oh." Ste feels as if Brendan's just knocked the wind out of his sails, and suddenly this doesn't feel like a big joke anymore. "When did you then?"

Brendan laughs, but it's without humour. "You like to push the boundaries, don't you."

"It's just a question, Brendan."

"I didn't," Brendan says quickly, his voice tight. "Okay? I didn't go off you. I look at you the same now as I did that first day I met you. More, even."

Ste swallows past a dry throat. "Because I'm back in the trackies?"

"No," Brendan says heavily. "No, Steven. Not because of the clothes."

Then he turns on the radio and brings an end to the conversation, leaving Ste with nothing but his thoughts.

**::: ::: :::**

The tense atmosphere between them evaporates by the time they get to the tailor's, and they enter the store while chatting aimlessly about what to do for lunch afterwards.

"But I have to get back to work," Ste's saying without much conviction.

"As much as I'd like to kidnap you for the rest of the day," Brendan responds, approaching the counter and ringing the little bell, "I promise to have you back before your shift starts."

The tailor, a funny little man with a deep-grey combover, takes Brendan and Ste into a back room lined with mirrors. Ste plonks himself down in an armchair in the corner and watches Brendan try on suit after suit, giving a yay or nay to each, mildly thrilled to catch snapshots of Brendan's skin each time he changes.

"The thing you have to understand," the tailor says, on his knees in front of Brendan, fiddling with the legs of the trousers Brendan's wearing, "is the well-tailored suit gives the ultimate first impression. A suit speaks of power, control, dominance—"

"Speaking your language there, Bren," Ste says, to which he receives a mock glare in response.

"But a shabby suit, an ill-fitting suit," the tailor continues, getting to his feet and smoothing down Brendan's shoulders, "tells you this man is insignificant, meaningless." He straightens Brendan's lapel and smiles at him. "And Mr Brady here is certainly not insignificant."

"Hmm," Ste says, trying not to roll his eyes while Brendan preens under the attention. "So what is _Mr Brady_ then?"

"Mr Brady is a force of power, a man who settles for no less than success. His suit must reflect that."

Ste stares at them both, incredulous. "Right, will I just leave you two alone?" Brendan gives him a _look_, which makes Ste smirk, until the tailor rounds on him with irritation clear in his eyes.

"I can see you follow no such conventions, sir."

Brendan clears his throat. "I know you didn't just insult my friend here," he says mildly, although Ste can hear the undercurrent of anger in his tone.

"No, sir. Of course not."

"Good," Brendan says tightly. "You can give us a few minutes now."

"Of course, sir," the tailor repeats with a bow of his head, before shuffling out of the room and closing the door with a gentle click.

"Prick," Ste mutters.

"Ignore him." Brendan strips off the suit jacket and hangs it on a hanger, then inspects the shirt he's wearing in a nearby mirror. "What do you think of this shirt?"

"Ugly as hell," Ste says, and it really is. Some pale blue monstrosity with weird silver threading, looking like a throwback to the eighties. Brendan raises an eyebrow at him. "Try this one instead," Ste adds, getting to his feet. He grabs one of the other shirts hanging up, a deep red, soft-looking shirt, and takes it over to Brendan. "I like this one."

Brendan eyes it warily. "That one's a bit of a statement, Steven."

"It'll suit you, look," Ste says. He hooks the shirt onto the mirror beside Brendan and starts undoing the buttons of the shirt Brendan's already wearing. It's not until he gets halfway down that he realises just what it is he's doing.

He stops but keeps his hands where they are, halfway through undoing the fourth button down, and chances a look up at Brendan's face. Brendan's looking at him, intent, eyes dark and extremely focused, and Ste, through no will of his own, steps closer and continues working on the buttons, holding Brendan's gaze the whole time.

Once the shirt's hanging open, Ste wets his dry lips and drags his hands up Brendan's bare chest, fingers trailing through the hair and over defined muscle. Brendan doesn't make a move to touch him, stop him, anything—he stares at Ste and holds his breath and as Ste pushes the shirt off Brendan's shoulders, he releases that breath in a punched-out sigh that makes Ste's heart skip a beat.

The shirt pools at Brendan's elbows and wrists, leaving him bare and exposed to Ste's gaze. Ste breaks eye contact and explores the sight of Brendan, this new Brendan, tracing his fingertips down Brendan's chest, across the ridges of his abs, back up to his collarbone, the base of his neck.

"Bren—" Ste whispers in the instant before the door opens, the tailor swanning in.

Ste jerks away and turns his back to Brendan, walks across the room and gets himself under control, half listens to the tailor asking Brendan if he's ready to make any purchases.

Brendan leaves with an order for six suits and four shirts, and neither he nor Ste mention the moment they shared in that back room for the whole ride home.

When Brendan mentions lunch again, Ste politely declines. He doesn't think he could eat anything right now.

**::: ::: :::**

They arrive back in Hollyoaks just after a shower of rain comes to a stop, and Ste avoids a puddle as he steps out of the car.

"Thanks for your help today," Brendan says, locking the car.

Ste snorts. "Not sure I was much help to be honest."

Brendan gives a tight smile and comes around the car, but says nothing in response. Ste jerks his thumb over his shoulder towards the deli. "So I should just—"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay."

Ste, with an awkward nod, turns to leave, but then stops and looks back at Brendan. "I'm sorry about today," he says, feeling himself blushing a little. "I mean, what happened back there. I didn't mean—"

"Nothing happened back there, Steven," Brendan says diplomatically, pushing his hands into his pockets and avoiding eye contact. "Don't worry about anything."

"Right," Ste says. "Okay. Um." Ste tries to leave again, but something keeps stopping him, and now Brendan's watching him with an eyebrow raised and Ste's starting to feel like a bit of an idiot. "I was just… What are you up to tonight then?"

"Tonight?" Brendan takes a couple of steps towards him so they're not raising their voices across the courtyard. "Tonight I'm working." He sounds almost apologetic about it.

"Oh," Ste says. "Yeah, of course. Okay. So I'll just—I'll just head back to the deli now." He turns, head bowed down, and finally makes a move.

Brendan's voice stops him again.

"But I'm free tomorrow night. If you—" He pauses, and Ste looks across at him. "If you want to do something."

Ste stares at him, at the complete openness of Brendan's face, and feels as if this perhaps is the significant moment—more than the tailor's, more than the Dog the other night. His heart speeds up as he licks his lips and gathers some courage.

"One condition," he says.

Brendan takes another step closer. "Go on."

"We call it what it is."

Brendan bows his head a little, brushes a thumb against his moustache and looks up at Ste through his lashes. "And what is it?"

"It's a date," Ste says with a kind of confidence he doesn't quite feel. "If we go out tomorrow, then it's a date."

"If that's—" Brendan clears his throat. "If that's what you want—"

"I mean, only if that's what _you_ want—"

"Yeah," Brendan says with sudden conviction, and his voice softens. "Yeah, it is."

Ste can't help the smile that blooms across his face, and he can see Brendan trying to fight one of his own, which only makes him feel even more giddy. "Okay," he says, and has a wild urge to laugh.

"Okay," Brendan says, letting a little bit of that smile come through. "But if it's a date, then we treat it like a date."

"How d'you mean?"

"No more of this pretence," Brendan says, putting into words what Ste already knows—that none of this has been casual, not from day one at the club's re-launch. "I'm gonna pick you up and take you someplace nice."

"Are you now?"

"Yes, I am. Be ready at eight tomorrow," Brendan says, and then in a sudden, unexpected move that takes Ste by complete surprise, Brendan surges forward and presses a short, chaste kiss to Ste's lips.

As brief as the kiss was, it still leaves Ste a little dazed. "First kiss is supposed to come after the first date," he says stupidly.

"That wasn't the first kiss," Brendan says, and brushes his thumb over Ste's bottom lip. "That was the prelude to the first kiss."

Ste's not entirely sure what that means, but he'll take it.

"Get out of here," Brendan says affectionately, and Ste grins all the way back to the deli.

**::: ::: :::**

Ste can't sleep. His mind is a jumbled collection of thoughts about Brendan and dates and first kisses. It's consuming him, but in a way that's different to how it was before. Back in the day his thoughts of Brendan always held an edge of tension, of darkness, of knowing he can never have what he wants but having to decide if he should risk it anyway.

Now the thoughts just feel warm, comfortable, exciting. His stomach is full of butterflies.

It's just before one in the morning and he knows Brendan will still be up, probably still at work even, and he contemplates calling him, although he has no idea what he would say. There's nothing specific he wants to talk to Brendan about but he just wants to _talk_ to him, somehow, about anything.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand and considers his options. In the end, feeling a little cheeky, he sends a text: '_Stop thinking about me ;)'_

The response comes back within moments: '_Then stop being so distracting'_

Ste smiles, feeling that same giddiness again, a feeling that's becoming enjoyably familiar now. _'Don't blame me, I'm not doing anything'_

'_You're always doing something in my mind,' _Brendan responds, and Ste should have known he'd take it down this road. Not that he's complaining.

'_Like what?'_

The response takes a little longer to come through this time, and Ste imagines Brendan writing answers and then deleting them, trying to figure out how much he should say.

'_I'll show you one day'_

Ste bites his lip, goes a little hot under the covers. _'One day soon'_

'_One day very soon,' _Brendan answers, and Ste doesn't know what to say to that without taking them down text-sex territory, and he doubts very much that they're there yet.

Still, he can't deny the shiver of excitement, the way his cock heats up beneath his boxers. He gives himself a few minutes to cool down, then sends: _'Looking forward to our date'_

'_Good,' _Brendan says simply, man of few words as ever. But then, a minute later, another text comes through—_'Me too'_—and it really hits Ste in that moment how much Brendan has changed. Brendan of old would never have been able to admit such a thing.

Ste sends a simple smiley face in return to which Brendan responds with _'Goodnight' _ and even, shockingly, adds a kiss on the end.

Floating on cloud nine, Ste manages to fall asleep.

**::: ::: :::**

Date night, as it turns out, is unceremoniously cancelled. Half of Brendan's staff have come down with the norovirus, Brendan says, sounding just as disappointed and fed up as Ste feels.

"It's fine," Ste says, putting the outfit he was planning to wear back in the wardrobe. He'd spent half an hour before meticulously ironing it. "I mean, if you have to work then there's nowt we can do about it, is there?"

"I know, but—" Brendan breathes a heavy sigh down the phone.

"Just try not to get sick yourself," Ste says. "Use loads of hand sanitiser."

There's a pause, and then Brendan says, "Maybe you can come by the club instead?"

"Nah." As much as Ste wants to see Brendan, he wants to _see_ him. Not be stuck at the bar watching him work. "It's fine. We can reschedule."

"Right," Brendan says, the disappointment in his voice heavier now. "If you're sure."

"It's fine, Brendan, honestly. I'll see you another day."

The call ends on a downbeat note, and Ste slumps onto the bed in a huff.

**::: ::: :::**

He can't sleep again, but not because of the same enjoyable thoughts. He's beyond fed up. Right now he should be snogging Brendan's face off, not lying in bed alone, staring at the ceiling. With a muttered grumble to himself, he flops over onto his side, tugs the covers tighter around himself, and nearly jumps out of his skin when his phone beeps shrilly through the silence.

It's a text from Brendan: _'You still awake?'_

'_Yeah,' _Ste responds, and a moment later his phone rings.

"Hey," Brendan says when Ste picks up, and in that one word Ste can already tell that Brendan is absolutely exhausted.

"Hi. You sound wrecked."

Brendan breathes a laugh. "Thanks. I've spent the night doing the job of five people."

"Ouch," Ste sympathises. "Go get some rest."

"Yeah, I'm heading home in a minute. Just wanted to…I don't know. Talk to you first, I guess."

Ste rolls his lips between his teeth, gathers his nerve. "You could come sleep here."

He hears the hitch in Brendan's breathing. "With you?"

"Yeah," Ste says carefully after a moment.

Brendan doesn't answer right away, and when he does, Ste deflates instantly. "No."

"Oh." Ste has the overwhelming urge to snap the phone shut, avoid any further rejection.

"Not because I don't want—" Brendan tries, and then: "We're doing this properly this time, Steven. You deserve to be treated properly."

Ste almost laughs at that. "I'm not some delicate virgin, Brendan. You don't have to wine and dine me before getting any."

"Don't say that," Brendan says, his tone a little grumpy.

"Say what?"

"That. Getting any. Don't say it like that."

And Ste realises, suddenly, that Brendan is completely serious about this. Not just about the way Ste words his intentions, but the whole thing—about doing this _properly_. Brendan wants to make the full effort.

"Okay, sorry," Ste says, and he means it.

"S'fine. I didn't mean to snap."

"Just go get some sleep," Ste says. "Come find me at the deli tomorrow."

"Actually," Brendan says, "I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow."

"What about it?"

"I've got agency staff coming in to cover me for the evening—I'm meant to be visiting Cheryl."

"Right," Ste says. "That'll be nice."

"Yeah." Brendan pauses. "She'd love to see you as well."

"Me?"

"No, that other guy I'm seeing."

_Seeing_. They've not even had an official first date yet. "Better not be seeing anyone else," Ste grumbles anyway.

"You're more than enough for any man, Steven, don't worry about that," Brendan says playfully.

"Glad to hear it," Ste says and he knows, even without seeing anything, that they're smiling to each other down the phone. "So, tomorrow…"

"Yeah, you should come. We'd be leaving tomorrow afternoon and coming back the next morning."

Overnight… "Has Cheryl got the space?"

"She has a spare room for you, yes."

One spare room? Or another spare room in addition to the one Brendan will be occupying? Questions Ste's not brave enough to ask. "Yeah, okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good," Brendan says, his tone more upbeat now. "We'll leave about three. And Steven?" he adds. "I'm sorry tonight didn't go to plan."

"It's okay." Ste grins. "You can make it up to me another time."

"Count on it," Brendan says, a tantalising hint of a growl in his voice.

::: ::: :::

They leave Hollyoaks at three o'clock on schedule and Brendan keeps the radio on low so they can still talk. Ste catches Brendan looking at him often, glances out the corner of his eye, and their hands repeatedly brush together as they reach for the sweets in the centre console. Ste's sure it's deliberate, and heading so much into romcom territory that he repeatedly wants to giggle.

An hour into the drive they stop for coffee and snacks and sit together beneath a canopy outside a roadside café, watching the traffic pass by. Another hour passes in the car, which Ste fills with playing games on his phone and occasionally bickering with Brendan about the radio stations he chooses, before the bickering escalates into a full-on, good-natured argument about their different music tastes. Ste's getting worked up over his defence of Cheryl Cole, well aware Brendan's eyes are glittering in amusement, and he waves his arm about while trying to make a point but Brendan catches his flying hand, pulls it to his mouth, presses his lips against the back of Ste's knuckles. Doesn't kiss him, just holds Ste's hand against his mouth for a few seconds, before bringing it down to rest against his thigh, holding it there, the coarseness of Brendan's jeans warm beneath Ste's palm. Apparently Brendan just wants the contact, and Ste doesn't want to complain about it, so he keeps his hand on Brendan's thigh and carries on chatting away as if nothing untoward happened.

They make it to south London in good time and both have a good stretch when they get out of the car, meeting at the boot to retrieve the two overnight bags they'd packed. Brendan shuts the boot and smiles at Ste, brushes his fingers over Ste's temple for a moment, before wincing at the sound of Cheryl's shriek piercing through the early evening quiet.

"I can't believe you're both here!" she squeals, enveloping them both in a tight hug, then shuffles them in and up to the penthouse apartment she now shares with Nate.

"God, Cheryl, this is dead posh," Ste says in awe, staring around at the expanse of open-plan luxury.

"Well, you know," Cheryl responds, trying to look modest but preening all the same.

She gives them both a quick tour before stopping at one of the bedrooms. "This is where you'll be sleeping," she says. "So I'll just leave you to get settled for a minute."

Then she walks off and leaves them there in this one room, with its one bed, which Ste stares at, not knowing what to do next. Until Brendan touches him on the small of his back and says quietly, "Don't worry, I already planned to sleep on the couch."

Ste wasn't worried. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Nate arrives a few minutes later, coming from a meeting or some such, and Ste watches as Cheryl gushes over him and then does the introductions, even though they've all met before.

"Brendan, good to see you," Nate says, overly formal, shaking Brendan's hand. "And you, Steven."

"It's Ste." He shakes Nate's hand, smiling. "No one calls me Steven."

"Now that's not true," says Nate, folding his arms across his chest. "Brendan does."

"Yeah, well, Brendan plays by his own rules."

"Truer words were never spoken, Steven," Brendan says, because obviously he has to hammer the point home.

They settle on the couches while Cheryl serves tea, Brendan and Ste on one, Nate and Cheryl opposite. Ste realises, quite without worry, that he's leaning back on Brendan, Brendan's arm up on the couch behind him, his shoulder resting on Brendan's chest. But it feels fine, normal, and no one questions it, so he doesn't move. He can picture the scene—two couples chatting over tea—and he smiles to himself, catches Brendan tracing his fingers over his shoulder.

Afterwards they're instructed to get ready for the meal out Cheryl has planned, and apparently Nate's got them a table at a hard-to-get-into restaurant on the river. Ste's glad he brought some decent clothes with him, well aware that when Cheryl moved to London with a millionaire, she would take an enthusiastic leap into the world that comes with it. He and Brendan get dressed together, silently, in the bedroom, until Brendan comes over to help Ste with his tie, takes the opportunity to give Ste a once-over that leaves Ste feeling warm. "You look nice," Brendan murmurs, his tone full of dark appreciation, and Ste would give his arm to kiss Brendan right then, _really_ kiss him.

That desire is interrupted by Cheryl calling them to get a move on, that the cab's outside, and they all bundle into the back of it, chatting merrily like a group of students on a budget night out. The restaurant is far more upmarket than anything Ste's used to and he feels awkward, but comforted by Brendan's hand on his back steering him in the right direction, his quiet instructions on what fork to use first. Ste orders the fish while Brendan goes for the steak and it makes them smirk at each other with shared memory, Brendan's hand curling over Ste's thigh beneath the table. Between courses Ste takes Brendan's hand on his thigh and links their fingers together and when Brendan doesn't protest, jump out of his seat, or freak out in any way, Ste considers that the biggest moment of progress so far.

They're all a bit tipsy by the time they leave the restaurant, Nate and Brendan refusing to let Ste and Cheryl pay for anything—which makes Ste scowl, because he's not a girl, but also fills him with a hint of pleasure he will never admit to Brendan. They get back to the flat and while Nate and Brendan bust into a bottle of whiskey, Cheryl drags Ste into the bathroom for a gossip and Ste can't help giggling about how this feels so much like old times.

"So you and Brendan," Cheryl says, somehow managing to slur even when whispering.

"What about me and Brendan?"

She grins, all teeth and squiffy eyes. "I'm just so pleased you're finally together!"

"Shh!" Ste hisses, pushing her to the other side of the huge bathroom, as if the extra distance will make a difference in ensuring Brendan can't hear. "We're not together."

Cheryl attempts a wonky frown at that. "You're not? But I thought—"

"We're, uh. It's early days," Ste explains. "I don't even know what Brendan wants really."

"Trust me, you're what he wants," she says, then she rolls her eyes. "You're all he sees, Ste. The way he looks at you…" She sighs wistfully.

"Shut up," he grumbles, embarrassed, heat blossoming in his chest. "It's not like that."

"It's _definitely_ like that," she pushes, then lets out a giggle that turns into a hiccup. "He looks like he wants to eat you alive one minute and marry you the next!"

"Cheryl!" Ste slaps a hand over her mouth. "We've not even kissed yet."

"You…what?" she says incredulously once she's yanked his hand away.

"Brendan's got this idea in his head about doing things _properly_."

"That…" She frowns, before her face morphs into a cheek-splitting grin. "Oh my god, Ste, that is _so_ romantic!"

"Are you ladies done in there?" comes Brendan's voice from outside the door, and Ste goes instantly red, worried he's been caught in the act. "Some of us actually need to use the room for its intended purpose."

Brendan gives him a curious look as he leaves the room but says nothing, and Ste gulps down a shot of whiskey to calm his nerves.

After midnight Cheryl digs out a load of party games—because, as she says, they're only there for one night, and they're not going to waste it by going to bed. She gives Ste a wink at that, as if it's some joke about stopping him from going to bed with Brendan, and he blushes and looks away, Brendan glancing at him with confusion.

It's karaoke first, and Cheryl and Ste belt out some Lady Gaga while Nate laughs uproariously and Brendan sits on the couch, watching them both with amusement and fondness. Brendan gets just drunk enough to agree to an Elvis duet with Nate, and while he both sounds and looks ridiculous, there's something about it that gets Ste hot under the collar and he can't help but stroke his hand up Brendan's side when he joins him on the couch after. Brendan responds with a brief, blink-and-you'll-miss-it nuzzle of his lips against Ste's jawline, which makes Ste go even warmer and press in close to Brendan's side. It's all getting a little blatant now, Ste thinks, and he welcomes it all.

The dance mat comes next, on which Ste romps to victory—much to Cheryl's displeasure—before they wind down with a stupid game of Operation followed by collapsing on the couch in front of a few old episodes of _Friends_.

It's three in the morning the last time Ste checks the time, and the next thing he knows, he's being gently shaken awake by a worse-for-wear Cheryl, sunshine blasting across his face from the window someone forgot to draw the curtains over last night.

"You need to get up if you're gonna be hitting the road soon, love," she whispers to him before smiling and walking away, leaving him in his scramble-brained confusion.

It takes Ste a moment to realise he's still on the couch, and he's not alone. He's spread out across Brendan, his head on Brendan's chest and Brendan's arm tucked around him, their legs tangled together and Ste's groin pressed to Brendan's hip. There's a blanket over them both, for which he supposes he has Cheryl to thank, and both their shoes were removed at some point in the night.

Brendan's still asleep. Ste glances up at him, keeping the rest of his body still, and watches the peacefulness on his face for a few moments. His lips are parted slightly, soft breaths sighing out of him, eyes closed, no lines of tension so often prevalent. He's beautiful like this, and Ste is loath to disturb him.

But Cheryl's right—he has no idea what the time is, but he does have to get back to work for his shift, and Brendan's got the club to run tonight. They need to get up and going.

Ste untangles himself from Brendan's warm hold, the movement jerking Brendan awake. He looks adorably confused and childlike for a moment before awareness creeps into his eyes and he gives Ste a tired smile before stretching, shirt riding up, exposing skin to Ste's hungry view.

They make it back on the road by eleven, tired and hungover but content, and they don't speak much on the ride home, just sit together in peaceful silence.

When they make it back to Hollyoaks, Brendan parks in the club's courtyard but doesn't move to get out yet, and Ste undoes his seatbelt and stays put as well. "I had a really nice time," he says. "Thanks for taking me."

Brendan nods and smiles. "My pleasure."

With not much more to say, Ste moves to get out, but Brendan's hand on his arm stops him.

"Listen," Brendan says. "I want to take you out."

"You keep taking me out," Ste says, amused. "We've been on like four dates now. We just didn't call them dates."

"I know, but—I really want to treat you right this time, Steven." He sounds so sincere that it makes Ste glow on the inside.

"You _are_ treating me right. Brendan," he says, and grabs Brendan's hand, "you're making me really happy at the moment."

"I am?" Brendan says, and he seems genuinely surprised by this information.

Ste laughs. "Yeah, you idiot." He gives Brendan's hand a squeeze. "Stop stressing about it. Everything's fine."

"I want it to be more than _fine,_ Steven," Brendan says with a frown.

Which only makes Ste laugh again. "Everything's _more than fine_, Brendan. Okay? You're such an idiot," he adds fondly.

"You already said that."

"Well I'm saying it again." He gives Brendan's arm a nudge. "Now go home and get some rest. You look like hell."

Brendan tutts. "Yeah, and how is it you still look so good? We're both hungover and tired."

"I've got youth on my side, old man," Ste says cheekily, and lets his big donkey laugh roam free as he escapes from the car before Brendan can get his own back.

Twenty minutes later, Ste receives a text: _'Got cover for work tomorrow. You and me, 8.30pm, we're going out'_

Ste grins.

::: ::: :::

Ste's a bundle of nerves. Not because he's _nervous,_ but because he's excited. Brendan's due to pick him up any minute now and Ste knows what this night is. It's not just a date; it's not just a night out. This is the start, the real start, of everything. They'll go out tonight, and Ste will kiss him at the end, and then they'll be _together_. No more doubt or question about it. Ste and Brendan, a couple. It feels like the beginning of the future.

Truth is, Ste would like to do more than kiss Brendan tonight. His skin is crawling with frustration, with desire. He's had his hands on Brendan so much over the past few days, seen more than a little bit of Brendan's skin, his body, all that muscle and strength—he can't cope with it anymore. He wants to take Brendan's notion of _doing things right_ and throw it out the window, and by the time Brendan arrives, looking overwhelmingly sexy in his black shirt and trousers, Ste's worked himself up into a frenzy of heat and it's all he can do to avoid jumping on Brendan in the doorway.

"Hi," he says, and he knows his voice sounds strained, thick.

Brendan comes into the flat, stops in the hallway, staring at Ste's face with his eyes dark in the shadow. And Ste gets it, knows what Brendan's seeing—every little bit of Ste's lust and desire for Brendan is written on his face right now, and Brendan sees it all, feels it, swallows dryly and says, "Hey," in return, a croak in his voice that tells Ste he's not the only one in trouble here. "Let's just go," he adds, and it sounds like a warning, because they both know what will happen if they don't get out of here right now.

"Bren—"

"No, come on," Brendan says, and it's almost a plea. He turns back towards the door.

"Brendan," Ste says again, waits until Brendan looks at him then wets his lips, tries to control his breathing, stares at Brendan, silently begging—Brendan looking at his eyes, his mouth, his throat, fists clenched, chest rising deep with each breath—

"Jesus," Brendan says, shoves Ste against the wall, takes Ste's face in his hands, and kisses him. It's a kiss to end the world, or save it—Brendan savages his mouth, lips and tongue and teeth, so deep Ste will taste him for days. And Ste moans, can't help it, fists his hands in Brendan's shirt and tugs on it, pulls him closer, closer still, gets his groin tight to Brendan's and yanks on his hips so he can slide his aching cock up against Brendan's through the material, friction and heat but not enough—needing more—

Ste rips open Brendan's trousers and then his own, clumsy and uncoordinated but quick enough, pulls them both out from the confines of their boxers—Brendan hard and hot and leaking at the slit, so ready for Ste already, so desperate. Brendan groans into his mouth when Ste presses their cocks together and kisses him deeper still, never stops, sucks Ste's breath from his lungs and the taste from his mouth and makes him dizzy with it, weak with need.

When Brendan knocks Ste's hand away and takes them both in his giant grip, Ste's knees nearly buckle from relief. The kiss breaks and their foreheads press together and Brendan strokes both their cocks in a fast, furious rhythm that has Ste crying out within moments, clawing at Brendan's shirt, his hair, his face, the wall behind him.

Brendan kisses him again, swallows his moans, moves his hand faster over their dicks and spreads the precome, so much precome from the both of them, so close to the edge, ready to crash over it together.

"Fuck," Brendan says with a hiss, pulling away from Ste's mouth, and Ste buries his face in Brendan's neck and latches his teeth onto the skin there, bites down hard, knows Brendan can take it. The pleasure's thundering through his veins too quickly for him to get control of himself, making him shake and shiver and throw his head back against the wall, whisper, "_Oh god, Brendan_," in the instant before he erupts, spunk shooting from his dick and over Brendan's fist, Brendan's mouth crashing against his, smothering the screams trying to claw free from Ste's chest. Brendan slows his hand a little but doesn't stop, releases Ste's spent cock from his grip and continues stroking his own, skin flushed red with heat, breath punching out of him. He doesn't give Ste any time to come back to himself before he's pushing on Ste's shoulder, getting him to slide down the wall and onto his knees, thumbs open Ste's mouth and comes, instantly, all across his tongue and over his lips. Ste swallows and licks every drop from his lips while Brendan watches him with hooded eyes, gently pulling the aftershocks from his dick, hips jerking on every other stroke until he stops, puts his fingers beneath Ste's chin, coaxes him back onto his feet.

They kiss, and a moment later, they're laughing into each other's mouths.

"This wasn't supposed to happen yet," Brendan murmurs, giving Ste a final quick peck before pulling back slightly.

"Took the edge off, though, didn't it?" Ste's grinning, can't help it, pleasure still flooding his system and making him almost delirious with it.

"Funnily enough," Brendan says, voice honey-thick, sliding his arms around Ste and pulling him close again, "it's done the opposite for me. Now I've had a taste…" He kisses Ste, languid tongue and sensual lips, pulling yet another groan from him.

"Then let's go to bed," Ste whispers against his mouth.

Brendan stops the kiss long enough to look at him, searching his eyes. "Are you sure? Because—"

"I know, I know. You want to do things properly. And I appreciate that," Ste says, brushing his thumbs across Brendan's jawline, "I really do. But right now…" He closes the gap, kisses him. "Right now I need you to take me to bed and fuck me. _Please._"

Brendan doesn't need asking twice.

::: ::: :::

This is power. Brendan spread out on Ste's bed, naked as sin, fists clenched in the sheets beneath him, flushed skin glistening with sweat, eyes screwed shut in ecstasy—while Ste's settled between Brendan's legs, mouthing his dick, licking it, sucking it, dragging excruciating pleasure through his skin. Brendan looks like he's going out of his mind with it and Ste's getting drunk on the power, the control he has over Brendan right now. It's intoxicating.

He pushes Brendan's legs open wider and moves down to his balls, sucks one and then the other into his mouth, scrapes his teeth over the sensitive skin, grins around his mouthful when Brendan's hand shoves into his hair, pushes on him, grinds himself against Ste's mouth.

Ste moves lower still, tongues at the skin below Brendan's balls, looks up at Brendan's face and murmurs, "Can I…?"

"Yeah, yeah," Brendan says instantly, desperately, and Ste's too surprised to ask if he's sure. He pushes Brendan's legs up and wide until Brendan gets the message and hooks his hands behind his own knees, holds himself high and open for Ste.

Brendan's never let him before. The one time Ste got close, that night near the beginning when he'd managed to slip a fingertip over Brendan's hole, Brendan had shoved him away and freaked out, angrily hissing that he wasn't _a fucking bottom_ and no one gets to touch him there, not even Ste.

But now he's practically begging for it, holding himself open, hips rocking up, arse angled towards Ste's face and Ste can't resist for one second more—trails his tongue down, down, and straight over Brendan's hole, circles it, gets it wet with spit and pushes against the muscle there.

Brendan's breath is punching out of him and his fingers holding his legs up are white through the knuckles; Ste knows if his hands weren't busy, they'd be tugging in his hair now, pulling him closer, getting Ste's tongue deeper.

Ste does it anyway, pushes his tongue through the muscle, back out, licks around and over until Brendan's a soppy mess, slick with Ste's spit, enough for Ste to slide a finger in beside his tongue and for one tense minute he thinks he might have gone too far, but Brendan does nothing but groan from somewhere deep in his chest and rock his hips up to get his hole closer to Ste's face.

Ste keeps it going for a few more minutes, working that finger in and out of him, slurping around his hole until he's soaked through with spit. And when he thinks Brendan's hitting the edge, when his laboured breathing is rocking his whole body, Ste adds another finger and moves up, swallows Brendan's cock down to the root, shoves his fingers in deep and hammers against his prostate, sucking desperately at his cock until Brendan groans, "_Jesus, fuck, Steven, Steven_," and comes thick and hard down Ste's throat.

Ste smiles after, endlessly pleased with himself, slinks up Brendan's body and presses a kiss against his jaw. "Never knew you were so into rimming," he murmurs, still smiling.

"Neither did I," Brendan pants, still trying to catch his breath, rubbing a hand over his face as if he can't quite believe what just happened.

Ste blinks at him. "You mean you've never had anyone—"

"No, never."

"Wow," Ste says, and strokes a hand down Brendan's chest, going hot all over with the knowledge that this was a _first_ for Brendan, a small element of virginity that he'd given to Ste. "Well I'm glad I could show you what you were missing."

Brendan laughs breathlessly and tugs Ste closer. "You're gonna have to give me a few minutes before I can return the favour though."

"It can wait," Ste says, pushing up onto his elbow. "I'm starving actually." He considers his options, not really in the mood to go out or even cook. "Takeaway?"

"Takeaway," Brendan agrees, stretching out on the bed.

They order Chinese and eat in the bed, talking quietly and laughing together, both giddy and stupid. Ste's never seen Brendan looking so happy and it fills him with a different kind of pleasure, knowing he's the reason for that happiness, that it's _him_ putting that smile on Brendan's face, that light in his eyes.

And later, when Brendan's buried deep inside him, deeper than he's ever been before, he presses his face into Ste's neck and breathes, "I've never stopped loving you, Steven," against the skin of his throat, and Ste comes so hard he sees stars, clutching Brendan so close to him he can't breathe with it.

::: ::: :::

Ste's whistling at work the next morning. He knows he's being stupid, and he stops to laugh at himself, but he doesn't care. He's happy, and he's entitled to whistle all the tunes he wants.

Brendan comes in before lunchtime, and Ste knows immediately that there's something wrong. His good mood is replaced by worry and he stops what he's doing, puts down his knife and comes around the counter, stands before Brendan, too cautious to touch him.

Brendan's got a frown on, that light from his eyes gone.

"What is it?" Ste asks tentatively.

"Steven, look," Brendan says, shuffling his feet. Ste's entire body floods with dread. "If you're regretting what happened, if this isn't what you want—just tell me, because I can't—"

Ste's eyebrows knit together, that dread now replaced by complete confusion. "What you on about?"

Brendan rubs his forehead before shoving both hands in pockets. "You left. Snuck out."

"I what?"

"This morning. Or during the night. I don't—you just left. And I need to know where that leaves us because I can't—" He stops, draws a breath. "This was more than one night for me, Steven."

Ste laughs. He can't help it. The relief filling him is enough to make him hysterical. Of course, this only makes Brendan's frown deepen.

"You're such an idiot," Ste says for what feels like the thousandth time. "I didn't sneak out. I had to get to work."

"Without waking me?"

"I tried!" Ste says, grin spreading wider at this complete twit before him. "You were passed out cold. I gave you a kiss goodbye, though," he adds coaxingly, snaking his arms around Brendan's waist.

Brendan huffs out a laugh of mild embarrassment. "Oh," he says.

"Yeah, oh." Ste pulls him close and kisses him gently on the mouth. "But it's really nice that you cared enough to worry."

"Course I care," Brendan mumbles, kissing him again.

"Good, 'cos I can't have you freaking out every time I have to get up for work."

"I do freak out a lot, don't I?" Brendan says against his mouth.

"S'kay, I quite like it."

They kiss then, properly now, far too inappropriately for a deli in the middle of the morning. But Ste doesn't care, and neither does Brendan apparently.

A few minutes later, both a little rumpled, just as Brendan's leaving for work, Ste says, "And Brendan?"

Brendan stops with the door half open, raises an eyebrow at him.

"I never stopped loving you either."

Judging by the smile that spreads over his face, that was all Brendan needed to hear.


End file.
